


I Was a Fool (That's All That Really Matters)

by punk_rock_yuppie



Series: House of Memories [2]
Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV), The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Last Kiss, M/M, Smutty, angsty, short fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-29
Updated: 2016-08-29
Packaged: 2018-08-11 17:53:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7902142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/punk_rock_yuppie/pseuds/punk_rock_yuppie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>will you remember me in the same way i remember you</i>
</p>
<p>lacommunarde prompted: coldwave+kisses because I don’t want you to go and maybe I can convince you to stay just a few minutes longer+kisses because everything hurts right now including being loved by you but you’re also the only thing that makes it feel better</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Was a Fool (That's All That Really Matters)

**Author's Note:**

> the angsty, smutty sequel to 'become a taboo'

Akin to their first kiss, it’s a moment neither of them has ever forgotten. Unlike their first kiss, though, they’re both unpleasantly familiar with the nitty-gritty details, and their stories don’t differ all that much.

-

Mick’s skin still aches, the haunting touch of flames licking at his skin is still following him even as he tumbles into bed. His skin feels stretched uncomfortable taut over his muscles and bones and the haphazard bandages wrapped around the worst of his wounds feel sticky with flesh split open.

Doesn’t stop him from getting hard, though. Doesn’t stop him from falling into bed and pulling Len into his lap. He can feel Len’s distressed anger in every kiss, but he ignores it for now. He pretends Len isn’t all that mad with him. Mick pretends this isn’t the aftermath of a job gone horribly wrong–no score to speak of except the wounds littering Mick’s body. Mick pretends that he doesn’t know full well that come the morning, Len’ll be gone, hightailing it out of fear and anger and everything else he bottles up inside. 

Mick kisses Len with everything he’s got to give, as though his lips alone could get Len to stay. As though heated and passionate kisses could make up for all of Mick’s screw ups, tonight’s included. As though there’s any changing Len’s mind, when Mick knows it’s a fruitless cause. 

He goes through the motions in a haze. It’s all skin on skin, the sting of Len’s hands and lips on open wounds. Mick watches as Len fingers himself open, as Len sinks onto Mick’s cock with a hurt, angry sound. Mick watches as Len fucks himself, using Mick as little more than a sex toy. 

Mick watches, and with his hands tight on Len’s hips, he simply hangs on for the ride. He wonders if he hangs on tight enough if Len won’t be able to leave. 

-

Len’s mind won’t slow down. He keeps replaying the night over and over again behind his eyelids–his eyes clenched tight because it hurts too much to look at Mick. He can’t stop seeing the building going up in a blaze, can’t get the image of Mick, _on fire_ , stumbling out of said building. He doesn’t even care about the hundreds of thousands of dollars that went up in smoke. 

All he can think about, see, or smell is Mick, burning. 

He shoves Mick down and takes what he wants, and pretends that Mick isn’t hissing in pain at every other movement. He pretends that Mick’s wounds are weeping and ugly and so very _red_. 

He doesn’t dig his nails into Mick’s shoulders as he rides his stiff cock, because he’s too mindful of how tender the skin is. He looms over Mick and finally forces his eyes open. He hates the blend of agony and bliss flickering across Mick’s expression. He hates the familiarity of Mick’s hands engulfing his waist, and hates even more how he’ll ache for it for years after this. 

He hates how much he loves Mick–how much Mick loves him. He hates that it’s the only thing that’s ever made him feel remotely normal; he hates that he’s realizing now, of all times, that he has never been a person meant for love or affection or anything more than harsh words and a life on the run. 

Hips still rolling in a slow grind, he leans over and digs his elbows onto the bed on either side of Mick’s head. He kisses Mick with his eyes wide open, committing every last detail of Mick’s mostly unmarred face to memory. 


End file.
